Liar

Carefully closing the door enough to block the view from the house, I stepped forward with one lunging step, like a batter meeting a ball and-trying not to shut my eyes as I did it-swung the back end of my flashlight and the weight of all those D cells down on the back of her head. My D cells won out over her brain cells, and I caught at her as she pitched forward, not able to keep her from falling, but slowing it, and guiding her away from the most dangerous objects she might have struck on her way down. I quickly turned and shut the door all the way, hoping Gerald had been too busy to notice the noise made when her armload of Rachel’s tools went clattering to the floor with her.

I locked the knob, and after assuring myself that I hadn’t killed her outright, went back to the workbench. I found a roll of duct tape, pulled out my Swiss Army knife and went to work. Within a few minutes, I had tied the gag in her back pocket over her mouth, then bound her wrists and ankles with the duct tape.

It would have been nice to feel a sense of triumph at that point, but I didn’t. Her face already swelling from the place where Gerald struck her, pale from the blow I had given her, she seemed more a pathetic foolish girl than a vanquished worthy adversary.

Then I thought of the sounds I had heard Travis making, remembered that Ulkins had been tortured, and decided I would have to indulge in sympathy for Deeny some other time.

I wondered where I could leave her that would not be too close to sharp objects; ones she might use to free herself. I searched her pockets, found her pack of cigarettes and a book of matches from the Wharf on one side, a pair of shotgun shells in the other. I took both of these objects. I searched the items on the floor and found her keys. I found the Camry key, unlocked the car and opened the passenger door. I lowered the seat back and-with some effort-dragged her into the car. I rolled the windows down a little, locked the doors and took the keys with me.

I quickly studied Rachel’s tools, didn’t see anything of much interest to anyone who wasn’t breaking into a building. I didn’t know how to use them, so I left them there.

Time was ru

I turned out the light, waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, then crept outside with my hands as full as Deeny’s had been coming into the garage. I forced myself to overcome a paralyzing certainty that Gerald was watching my every move, shotgun in hand. Crouching low, I made my way toward the old bathtub on the back lawn. I set all the combustible materials-save the matches and the cartridges-into the tub, trying to stack the wood up so that it would burn well. I opened the can of lighter fluid, sprinkled a goodly amount of it over the wood, tossed my now flammable latex gloves on top it of all, then moved as quietly as possible toward the house.

Gerald had turned a light on in what I soon realized was the living room. I moved from window to window until I found one with a blind that didn’t reach the bottom of the sill. Once again I found myself looking through a narrow, slotted view, this one horizontal. What I saw made me wish I had waited a little longer to take a look.

Gerald was in the process of smacking Travis hard across the mouth. Travis’s gag was no longer in place, and Travis and Rachel were each tied to wooden ladder-back chairs. The blood from the wound on Travis’s forehead had dried, but now fresh blood came from a split lip. I took some solace in the fact that Gerald had not thought either of them dangerous enough to tie their feet or legs, and had not set up any electrical torture devices.

Gerald was talking-loudly, it seemed, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying.

I moved to the back of the house, thought of lighting the fire, hesitated. I crept up the back-porch steps, slowly put what I hoped was the right key into the lock and turned it. It opened with a click that sounded like a shot to me, but apparently Gerald didn’t hear it over his own voice. Slowly, cautiously, waiting for a creaking noise that would send him gu

I was in the kitchen. I could now hear Gerald very clearly.

“Don’t look at me like that!” he was saying. “Your daddy used to look at me like that. ”Don’t hurt me.“ Don’t hurt him! You know what I did for him? You know what I did? Everything. I fed him. I put clothes on his back and a roof over his head. I read for him. I wrote for him. You know that? You know your own father couldn’t read or write?”

“Yes,” Travis said wearily. “I knew.”

“Well, then! Maybe he told you who it was that was always doing everything for him! Always giving up everything for him! I raised him, tried to make sure he stayed out of trouble. And he was always in trouble! I had to go in and spend my time talking to the teachers when he was flunking everything. I was the one who saved him, you see? Whenever he was in trouble, I saved him. Then I had to find something to do with his sorry ass when he dropped out of school-didn’t even finish elementary school!

“Old Papa DeMont, he used to try to teach him things just by talking to him. If it weren’t for Papa DeMont, he wouldn’t have known a thing. That sweet old man used to let him follow him around like a pup. Taught him all kinds of things. I’m not saying Arthur was stupid, he wasn’t. He was about as dumb as a fox, and twice as sly. I’m out there working my ass off, and Arthur’s ru

“And you know how he repaid that kindness? By fucking the man’s daughter! That’s how! Now, I’ll admit, he was just a kid, and he can’t bear the blame entirely, because she was always tempting him. That was her way, to tempt and tease a man.”

“Sounds like you wished you’d got there first,” I heard Rachel say.

There was an ominous silence, then Travis shouted, “Don’t hurt her!”

Gerald laughed. “Listen to him. ”Don’t hurt her!“” he mimicked. “I want to, but I got plans for that dirty mouth of yours, you wop slut, so I’ll teach you some ma

I moved slowly toward the door that led from the kitchen to the living room. It was open, but I flattened myself against the wall. I had my flashlight ready. If I had the chance, I’d give Gerald the same treatment I gave Deeny.

“You once thought of marrying Gwendolyn?” Travis asked, distracting him from Rachel.

“Before I learned what she was really like, yes, I did. I loved her once.”

He stopped talking, then suddenly said, “You look so much like him. Your daddy. For a bastard, I’m surprised how much you come up looking like him. Nobody on earth I loved as much as him. Not even her, and I proved it. I always looked out after him, protected him. I made sacrifices. I told Arthur, he had to protect her like I protected him, against Horace DeMont and his brats. Course, he wasn’t man enough to do it.”

“But he made his own fortune,” Travis said, “and he provided for her from that.”

“For her?” Gerald said. “Or for a whore and the bastard he got off of her?”

“For all of us,” Travis said. “Even you.”

There was another sound of a blow. I must have moved, because the floor suddenly creaked beneath my feet. I got the flashlight ready.

“Why do you keep beating on him?” Rachel asked. “Just ‘cause he reminds you of his dad? I mean, what the hell is the point of all this? Is this all because we were looking for the El Camino?”